Witchcraft
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: Castle has her - has had her - under his spell, thoroughly bewitched for a long while now; and he knows it.


It's the sound of glass shattering, close by, that makes her lashes flutter in confusion, parting slowly, drowsily, the heavy cloud of lust lifting just _enough_ that she can find his eyes.

Dark, dilated, deadly pupils clash with her own, midnight blue in the fading light, they come at her, turbulent and triumphant falling upon her, dancing over her face and skirting lower, so that heat shoots through her limbs, drips incandescent flame in the furrowed pools between every joint of her body, every cell alive with fire.

When he ceases to move, stops, breathes out heavily, and smiles, the world in its entirety falls away.

Her own breath flies free in a tumultuous gust, seeking answers, "Castle, what was - ?"

He smothers her questions with kisses, mouth hot and aching and frenzied as he feeds from her lips, nipping and tasting before soothing with his tongue. Kate gasps and presses forward, nails rasping over green felt and the heavy clunk of her shoes hitting the floor draws him closer.

Her bare feet drag up and over his calves, toes curling behind his knees in that sinful, familiar, _late at night_ way that drowns them both immediately in memories of bed and couch and counter tops, of showers and slow and _yes, now, please_.

He growls when her legs skate up the backs of his thighs, wide open and pulling him in. His mouth back on her skin in seconds though, before she can distract or tease him with her flexibility, her downright mischievous attempt at thwarting his progression is knocked aside with even more kisses.

Before she can further question the sound that had brought her back to herself, stolen her away from the collaboration of _his_ mind and _her _body and the way, when in sync, they worked against her very, very well.

Before the movement of his fingers, as they find the strip of smoothest skin behind her knees, drives her to insanity and begging and completely forgetting that she was going to ask him someth - _oh, yes_.

Before she can form words enough to ask if it was _her_ drink or _his_ taking a swan dive from the surface she's currently - and precariously - balanced upon. Before she can ponder if she'd knocked it off with all her writhing or if Castle had simply lost patience with the lack of space and dashed it aside.

Oh, she'd go with that, it's too sexy an image to ignore or give up. Instead she'll cling to it, letting a glorious imagining of Castle gritting his teeth in frustration and backhanding her wine glass blossom freely in her mind.

She snuffles into the crook of his neck as he kisses her throat, letting the vision of him reaching for her and ripping a clear path through her dress, to find her warm and wet and wanting, shimmer through her, seeping hotly into her bloodstream.

Oh, yes, she'd go with _that_.

Her pulse shivers at the possibility, beats frantically under the torment of his tongue, her entire being his instrument, fingers working her with fine tuned precision.

Her body's reaction to the lazy wet swirl of his thick, penetrating tongue is _electric_. Sizzling, she feels pulled apart at the seams and her heart beats faster, her vision narrows, just him and the feel of his touch, the way he kisses, licks and loves every inch of her skin suddenly more sensitive, more responsive than ever before.

His fingers tangle in her loose hair, tug and demand until she lifts up just so, opens for him slowly, reaches for him frantically and then there is nothing but kisses and the lewd, delightful noises that he pulls from her with every one.

The taste of him under her tongue is _hard_ flavor, solid and familiar. She licks a slow swirl, mouth opening again and again, until he gives up her lips, kissing her throat, biting at her pulse and she fights to breath under the talented musings of his fingers.

They wander, those long, slightly rough padded fingertips, defined and thought out paths designed to drive her higher, higher and over the peaks of her nipples, testing each nubs resistance to being set free from the red silk that lays over them.

They are willing, _all_ of her is willing - and more than ready - to be laid bare before him. Yet he persists in his slow, steady and beautifully delicious torture of her body.

She wants to yell at him, to demand faster, quicker harder, friction everywhere and naked, naked seems like a delightful idea. Naked in his bar, spreadeagled on his pool table, yes, yes this seems like a _delightful_ idea.

But she doesn't, can't, won't, his touch is too thought through, too thorough too too much of everything. Just the lightest of grazes over her puckered flesh sends daggers of raw pleasure shooting through her stomach, shattering out in waves so close to the real thing and yet so very far from completion.

His thumbs dance in an untameable rhythm, up and down and back and forth, his mouth dropping to open over her dress, drenching the bright red until it turns a dusky maroon under his seeking devilish attention, until she tilts back, gasps and grabs his head, begging. Until her skin flushes, the same shade as the clothes creeping lower, screaming to be set free.

Her back arches, spine snapped rigid, fingers curling rhythmically in the strands of his hair when his mouth crests higher, gives up on the soft fall of material and instead opens over the plump rise of her cleavage. Revelling in the wicked spell of seduction he casts over her body, Kate gives herself up to his thumbs tracing over her, tugging her free of the confines that hinder his progress, magical, mystical, _musical_ touches flaring out in a repeating rhythm designed to drive her crazy.

His tongue dips between the swell of her breasts and he greets them with whispered words, as though talking to long forgotten friends. Friends he only parted from this morning, in the shower, and yet he mumbles _hello's_ and _how are you's_ and _I missed you's _with the soft caress of his tongue, sweeping, sweeping so the laughter bubbles up inside her and she's giggling at his antics and melting beneath him and burning down to her very soul all at the same time.

She laughs and laughs and pulls him up for a kiss, pressing her smiles to his. Their teeth clash and he nips at her lip, _oh_, nips and bites and _yes, yes_, keep doing that.

A ripple of warmth, molten, like surging fire, races from where his lips connect to her fluttering skin, where his teeth drag now, sucking on the edge of her breast, grazing, singeing, marking her and sending shards of light out through the tips of her fingers.

He growls, salivating at the taste of her, mumbles and moans when her flesh and flavor enter his mouth in heady combination. Devious contentment echoes around the pert, pink bud, twirling his tongue in a tight circle and balling her dress into his fist at her back, he holds her tight and close. Kate squirms into his arms, trying to get closer, nails sharp over his scalp, she clings to him and throws her head back, moaning his name.

She still has to know though, has to question and perhaps he knows what's coming as opposed to what he'd like to _feel _coming because he attacks her with renewed fervor, pushing her dress down so her breasts spring free and land immediately in his waiting palms.

It's no use, no use at all because even as he touches and strokes and - dear, sweet holy fuck - sucks on her skin as though it's the very first and last and every other time in between he will be allowed to do so, even with all that she has to know. Has to hear his voice in that croaked and smokey timber, slightly cracked as he loses control and drives her closer to the edge.

"You have - mmmm, god - karaoke machine that _never_ gets used -"

Castle growls his disagreement against her skin, humming a few bars of 'Witchcraft' around the plump and puckered skin he now holds in his mouth, tongue vibrating to the tune of the song against her nipple.

She may as well be sitting on a speaker in the front row of the best and loudest concert ever given, the tune shoots straight through her and explodes rampant heat straight between her legs.

He teases and tests, toying with her, never letting up his pace or the low volume of his lyrical lashing, as if chastising her lack of memory.

But she does, oh she does remember.

She remembers the looks he gave her as they sang together, alone, on the small stage in the Hamptons. Kate remembers the sweet way he brushed a strand of hair from her face, perfectly timed with the music. Secluded by the fall of the lights and the fact they only had eyes for each other, each verse spoke volumes.

And now he's teasing, arousing the need in her as he hums the lines and she hears the words reverberate in her head, yes, - oh yes, god, yes, like that - yes, yes she remembers when they sang it together.

She remembers what they did, later that night. How, where and when, over and over and over again.

Kate gasps, giving up a shuddered, gulped down laugh as he kisses her skin and continues to hum. She tries to hum back too, as proof, to sing and join in only to lose the song and the beat and _oh everything _in between when he pushes her skirt higher up her legs.

Castle has her - has had her - under his spell, thoroughly bewitched for a long while now; and he knows it.

"O - kay," she gives in, gives up, concedes his points and sees the light, sees a lot of lights actually as her vision starts to flicker around the edges, fracturing with pleasure, "but why the - aah - hell did you buy a pool table?"

"Kate." He growls, oh and there's a tone, husky and low, almost disappointed that she hasn't guessed yet the reasons behind his sudden purchase, and he says it again, her name, "Kate?"

Sweet and immoral, and again, "Kate." Making sure he has her full and undivided attention when he shakes his head, eyes locked on hers.

He does, he does, her entire world is revolving around him, spinning like a record on a turntable, no escape, just the beautiful harmony they create together.

Castle drags the short skirt higher up the backs of her legs, pulling it out from under her, stroking hard and firm, moaning her name loudly as he lifts her up and back, further onto the green felt surface of the brand new pool table, angling his head to claim her mouth when she yelps in shock.

The hard landing is forgotten instantly, she reaches for him, spreading her legs wide, thighs scraping the wood and felt of the table, leaving burn marks behind her knees. She doesn't care, he can lick them better later. He can sing a song of apology to the apex of her thighs and she'll succumb; sated and screaming his name.

The width of his palm spreads wide across her thigh, dragging upwards so he could slide his fingers down and as if he knows, as if he can read her mind, his body follows suit and oh, - _oh, oh_ -

He starts to croon between her thighs, humming the tune that sears her senses and though she tries desperately to cling to the notes and rhythms - the table edge - the movement of his tongue and the sweet fluttering kisses of _his_ lips over _hers_ against her underwear are too distracting too good too - oh, god, fuck, yes ...

The pulsations of his lyrical masterpiece send spasms out though her legs so her muscles shake with the effort of withstanding his onslaught, knees wide and back burning under the slide of felt against sensitive skin.

It's heaven as he drives her higher. It's hell as he keeps her there, cresting an eternal wave of bliss.

When she can stand it no longer - _Castle, please, god_ - she reaches for him, wanting him to feel the way she does, to feel the intensity, the pleasure, the burning need for completion, to pull him in deep, surround him and squeeze him tight, the both of them breaking apart.

She wants him drowning in her just as much as she's lost in him.

Castle's tongue flicks out, snakes over her, long and claiming, his teeth rough over the exposed silk of her throbbing flesh. The tune he hummed is fading out now as he creates a new beat for her body to dance too.

The melody is punishing and deliciously dark, setting her hips to _rock_ into his and _roll_ languidly, prolonging the way they touch when they collide.

Kate feels her chest tighten with every inch he gains, chasing spasms of desire down into her stomach when his fingers trip over the edge of her underwear and tug them from her gyrating hips. A sensual slide of black lace over the cream of her legs makes him moan, mouth a hot, wet, _burning_ point of sensation when he follows the garments removal and then climbs his way back up, presses his lips on the flare of bone at her ankle, her calf, her knee, kneecap and thigh.

High, higher still. Short sweet kisses land again and again.

His eyes open, nostrils wide to inhale her scent, she finds she didn't care if he chooses to answer the questions she's all but forgotten; the way he looks at her is enough.

Yet, _why, why, why?_ thrums through her.

And then, of course, when she's all but given up her need for an answer, surrendering it for a need far greater, he gives her one anyway.

"So I can do _this_."

Oh, but his answer is _better_ than the silence had inferred it would be. Better when he consumes her whole and sends her tumbling into the roaring fires of a place that could never be hell, the heat too wonderful, too soothing, so ferociously close to heaven with a rising crescendo that could never be considered a sin.

She throws her head back, feeling the pulse of his tongue slide deep inside, swirl and suck - fuck, that bang might have been her skull connecting with the table, and fuck he does it again before she's even halfway through coping with the sensation and god, if he stops now, now, now, life itself will cease to have any meaning.

But it's not enough, it's nowhere near enough to still the squirm of need that beats the loudest drum on the underside of her skin, _Castle, Castle, Rick Castle _an incessant tirade against her ability to think, to move.

His fingers join his tongue, and sweet jesus she won't survive it, _Castle please_, feels the kisses he draws out at the sound of his name, the way he slows, slows and leaves her whimpering on the edge and pushes on her leg until her knee is bent and her toes are curling into the felt pocket nearest his head.

He nips at the inner edge of her thigh just hard enough to pull her back from the brink and Kate gasps loudly, leg quivering and giving out until she forces her body upright, needing him more than ever.

He rises slow, but just as far gone as she is, his eyes pitch black and his lips parted, the shimmer across them so intimate, so inviting that she fists her hand in his hair and drags his mouth to her own.

The heated flare of his tongue, the sweet way his fingers slide down her spine to caress the curve of her ass and drag her closer, set the tempo. Kate's sudden rise from the table leaves her head swimming, each delicious kiss consuming. Castle's lips are burning hot as she tastes him, herself, them together in the salty sweetness that meets her mouth.

He's so kissable like this, soft, held close and delighting in her enjoyment, hard and demanding so that she comes back again and again, fired up by the taste that invades with every slick slide of his tongue

With no straps to the dress, no need to guide it down her arms and _just rip it if you have too_, she finds herself naked and him far, far too clothed.

Nails flick out at his zipper. Fingers graze.

Screw the shirt and the pants and whatever else might stand in her way, the startled silence is suddenly full of the sweet serenade of teeth separating at her touch.

Re-learning the landscape of his body every time she skims his flesh, Kate sighs when Castle grunts at the rasp of her skin over his. He pushes her legs wider, holds her there, growls threats of recrimination everytime he lets go and she clamps around him like a vice.

His thumbs are hot, molten sweeps across her quivering thighs, with deadly nails that bite down when she finally gets her hands on him, squeezes and strokes and fondles as though she has all the time in the world.

Bent on her destruction he finally makes good on his threats and warnings, Castle watches Kate loses herself in the feel of his fingers grazing the insides of her thighs, capturing her wrists to slow the strokes of loving hands over hard flesh between them, a symphony of sensation unfurling through her, rippling out in weightless waves.

"_Castle_, yes!"

The silky sound of her voice caressing his name spurs him on, needle darts of delirium pierce his skin and his fingers drive, guiding and claiming her hands.

"So ... I can do this." He husks, voice a breathy whisper, playing for her reaction as he sinks into her on the thunderous roar of blood in his ears. He pulls out, pushes back in and follows the punishing snap of her hips with a lightning strike force of his own.

The thrill rains down upon them, silver and white, a luminescent glow between the cracks, it starts to ripple out, to shiver, shimmer and explode, bliss a luxury that they indulge in, fall into and her nails rake over the back of his shirt with every shudder that racks her body.

It's going to be over faster than either of them are used to, they are so good at prolonging this moment now, drawing it out, delighting in its repetition but his fingers are roaming over her without finesse or well timed cadency, losing focus under the force of desire that's tearing through them and - _yes, yes yes_ - that's making it harder for her to hang on.

So she doesn't.

The felt burns beneath her and Kate yelps, moans and whines at the feel of the grazes that marr her skin, she enjoys the fire that sparks when she slides back and forth. Castle lifts her leg, surges in deeper, drags roughly over her sensitized flesh and throws her, cascading end over end in triumphant, straight into the white hot sun of her release.

It explodes, brilliant bursts of love and light that clench her muscles so tightly Castle curses under the force of her grip, clench and release, clench and release until he's almost crawling out of his skin in desperation to follow after her.

Spiraling himself, her ankles lock at his back drag him inside inches deeper, no escape and his mind whites out, wipes clean as he finally comes apart buried deep and crying out her name.

They shudder through it together, worn out, and when he can breathe, when he can think, Castle drags a thumb over the wet crease of her lower lip and kisses her, hard, with devotion.

It's witchcraft, wicked witchcraft indeed in the magical spell that they weave between them, in the places and times and moments it catches them unawares. And he wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
